


Heat Cycle

by SnaxAttacks



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alien Biology, Bathroom Sex, Crossdressing, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 22:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnaxAttacks/pseuds/SnaxAttacks
Summary: The worst part about being banished, other than being stuck with your least favorite person in the universe, is having to deal with Heat Cycles. Extremely unoriginal idea but whatever. I haven't written an Invader Zim fanfic in 16 years, please be gentle with me.





	Heat Cycle

If anything, at least the boss wasn't in when it hit. 

Tak's fingers drummed uncomfortably on the front counter of her new, hideous prison. Apparently deserting was instant banishment, which wasn't something she was unfamiliar with. Dirt was a hellhole, but at least it was mostly dry and dusty. This place, Foodcourtia, was unsettlingly moist and sticky at all times, from the food, the patrons, and just the general weather. Janitorial methods she had perfected for 50 years meant nothing anymore in this new environment. Shloogorgh's was presentable at best, that's what she could manage.

Perhaps swabbing toilets for the rest of her life could have been a rewarding punishment. Her pak's encoding encouraged it, but her brain was hooked up on something else. The OTHER Irken prisoner serving out his punishment in the restaurant. Unfortunately, he was no stranger to her, or anyone really. Turns out sending your leaders into a florpus hole is enough to finally get the control brains to hunt your ass down and send you back into banishment. At least she got to watch Zim burn the shit out of himself with hot oil every day. Sizz-lorr also decided to put him in the system as a female employee and forced him to wear the female uniform, which was funny and all, but the boss was a little more into it than he should have been, the sicko. Regardless, Zim's presence was a rotten stinking cherry on a stink sundae. 

Her fingers tapped more frantically. The wet warmth of the dining room was overwhelming, suffocating, more than usual. A trickle of sweat dribbled down her forehead. No no, it couldn't be, not THAT. While doing menial tasks was embarrassing, the worst part of re-encoding and dropping castes was the lack of support from the control brains. You were cut off from all pak updates, essentially dead, unsupported hardware. And without a connection, there were no suppressors. 

Standard reproduction had long since become obsolete in the Empire, but nature would do its damnedest to make it happen regardless. A higher ranked Irken with a proper connection would never do something so disgusting and primitive, thanks to suppressors, but for the unsupported, Heat Cycles were a horrible nightmare. 

They didn't happen often, maybe once a decade. Their infrequency gave Tak a little hope. Maybe it was just the temperature getting to her, or the artificial lighting, or the smell. Her antennae twitched as she paused on the thought. The smell. There was a smell. Not the usual unpleasant smell of old grease and vortdog water, something invisible but appealing. The actual scent was vague and neutral, but something about it was sinking hooks into her. Before she could devote her full attention to the olfactory anomaly, someone cleared their throat in front of her, snapping her back to the reality of the restaurant. 

"Ahem," a particularly large and gelatinous being huffed, "I ordered my food 20 minutes ago and I haven't gotten it yet! Nothing's come out of the kitchen in ages. I think your frycook lady is dead."

Tak cracked a grin. Oh that would be lovely. A dead Zim would be an improved Zim. She gathered her thoughts quickly, feeling oddly foggy. "Uh, yes, I'll go make sure he's really dead then." 

She left her spot by the counter and headed back to the kitchen. Her breath grew heavy without her even noticing. It wasn't until she was at the door that she realized she was panting. Maybe she was the one finally dying? She pushed forward and opened the door. That silent smell hit her like a steel plate in her path. This must have been the source. 

"Zim!" She halfheartedly yelled, breath taking away the impact of it. She turned a corner and found him, in a heap on the floor by the fryer, in that stupid dress. Unfortunately, he was alive, twitching uncomfortably and visibly flushed. Damn, it was a Heat Cycle. As miserable as they were, he was really hamming it up. She kicked him in the ribs. 

"Get up you idiot, we have customers waiting."

He just weakly whined, not moving from the floor. 

"For Irk's sake, get the hell up. It's just a Heat Cycle, you're an adult, suck it up!"

"H-heat? C-cycle??" He wheezed.

Tak dropped her arms to her sides in disbelief. "Really? You've never been through a Heat Cycle before? I mean, you've been re-encoded for a while right? You've had to have been through a few by now?"

Zim rolled on the floor, onto his back, genuine fear in his eyes as he stared blankly at the grease stained ceiling. "Whenever I'd start feeling gross feelings like these, I'd just experiment with my pak to stop it. I can't do that anymore because of this HORRIBLE job!" He rolled to his side, cheek squished into the floor in a dumb, fish-like expression. "Am I dying?"

The female Irken couldn't help but snicker at this pathetic display, regardless of an intrusive, heated thought finding him extremely cute like this. 

"You're just going into heat."

"Going into wha?"

"Heat."

"What?"

She facepalmed, sliding a gloved hand over her blushed face. "You're horny, you dipshit."

He paused for a moment, as if he understood, then, "Hor-ny??"

Tak's face scrunched up in frustration. She was not in a state to explain dumb gross vestigial habits to a brainless defective, even if he was an extremely attractive, sexy defective. Hey, NO. She attempted to shake the thought from her head. 

This wasn't going anywhere. The yells from the dining room were becoming louder and angrier. She gritted her teeth and pressed her fingers into her temples. Her previous Heat Cycles were easily, if unappealingly dealt with. A hand and some privacy and it was done and done. Unfortunately, there was a wild card this time. Just being near him was starting to make her knees turn to jelly. She had to think on her feet. 

She scrambled to the front counter, dizzy and sweltering as she pulled her body along. After a few huffs of air, hands death gripping the countertop to keep her up, she said, "Frycook's dead, we're closed until a new one's assigned. GET OUT."

The crowd of aliens grumbled and luckily complied, not without one offering to eat the 'corpse' in place of a proper refund. On a normal day, she would have considered it, but not today. Even thinking about the dumbass on the floor in the kitchen shot a tingle through long-dormant parts of her anatomy. 

By the time she locked the doors, the humidity of the room felt like an extra 50 pounds of gravity crushing her. She knew the only way this was going to be taken care of, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Her pak begged her to be repulsed, but the flesh brain was calling the shots now. 

She got back to the kitchen and grabbed the other Irken, still wallowing on the floor, by his foot, and dragged him to the bathroom. She thanked her past self for having just mopped before the Cycle set in. At least when this was done, they could in theory clean off the shame, or at least she could. Quickly, she pulled him into the first stall and locked it. 

Tak gulped. There was a lot she should have explained to him, since he was clueless, but there wasn't time for that. "Listen, I'm going to do some things to you, you do some things to me, and we can get through this, okay? Just, ugh, I'll lead the way." 

She got down onto the floor, propping herself up with her pak legs to keep her head off the bathroom tiles. "Take off your pants, they're probably already a mess anyways."

He was beyond words, luckily, and just nodded without protest, drool streaking down his chin and onto his uniform top. She prayed he'd stay quiet, but with his track record, she doubted it. He hiked up the skirt of the uniform and quickly slid down the tights underneath, letting his squirming flushed organ free. His breath hitched with just the touch of the fabric. It writhed like a worm dying on a particularly hot sidewalk, dripping and slick with fluid. His legs shook, his pak legs automatically popping out to hold him upright. 

After a mental wince, her hands got to work. This wasn't just for him, she had to remind herself. This was mostly for her sanity. If using him to get back into a proper mental state was wrong, then maybe he shouldn't have been an asshole. 

She gripped the rather hearty appendage and began to rub rhythmically. It responded by attempting to wrap around her hands as he wheezed out a confused but needy whine. Shit, she shouldn't have found such a stupid noise appealing, but well, here she was, hands all over his shmoo like some kind of hussy. He was basically overcome with the shakes at this point. 

"You're REAL damn lucky I'm willing to help you with this. Now stop fucking squirming!" she commanded. 

Hands weren't going work for long, the meat in her skull concluded. You should use your mouth, it pressed. Any attempt from her pak to stop this went totally unheard. She dove in, taking the whole thing into her mouth and sucking it like an enthusiastic Italian with a plate of spaghetti. The noise that escaped him was indescribable, akin to the sounds he made when getting spattered with boiling fryer fat. This only meant her brain was right, encouraging her to keep going. His hands flailed for purchase, dropping the hem of his skirt and gasping firmly onto the base of each of her antennae. It was her turn to gasp from sensation as he pulled her closer by her head. Touching antennae was a fun foreplay sort of thing for sure, but, with a gagging mouthful of Zim's wriggling dong, she figured they were beyond such formalities and kept going. 

She was aching between her legs. By this point in her previous Heat Cycles, she had already tended to her own outdated anatomy. It was screaming for attention now. She figured if she could finish him off, she could just take care of herself like usual, but unfortunately, that plan was starting to crack and fall apart. She sucked his length, keeping up pace and inspiring more bizarre noises from him. Every squeak and yelp made her throb harder, the resounding urge to fill her emptiness up pounding like a sledgehammer to the face. Shit, how was she going to explain this? He was pretty much pudding in her hands but it was still an odd request without context. 

Pulling the dick from her mouth, she stuttered while getting to her feet, pulling off her panties with shaking gloved hands. "I need you to put it in me. Don't even question it, just do it." 

"W-where?" he panted confused.

"You're such a goddamn idiot I hate you so much," Her words completely lacked venom, but she meant every word as she pushed herself onto him. 

His spiderlegs hooked onto the stall door for support as he took over some of her weight. Thankfully, Zim's junk was smarter than him and immediately slammed wholesale into her slit. The moan she let out was unflattering, but so was fucking a manlet in a fastfood bathroom. She gyrated her hips, grinding into him, closing her eyes and trying to think of anyone else in the universe but him. He dug his fingers into her thin thighs and started to thrust hard and fast. He caught on fast, or more likely, was in a selfish pursuit for whatever felt best for him.

Between gasps and grunts he spoke, "Heh, Zim is truly a master of th-"

"NO stop, just stop. Please don't fucking talk to me I don't want to hear your stupid voice." her sentence was quickly followed by a sharp cry of pleasure, her eyes snapping open as he twisted inside of her. He had that goddamn smug ass expression on his face. Nope, there was no way she was letting him take control of this. She ground down on him harder. If he was getting this confident, she'd have to cum first. It was her only chance of cumming at all; masturbation was a loser's goal. She knew with 100% certainly if he came first, he'd leave her high and dry, the selfish douche. 

What had started out of necessity to restore the status quo was becoming an arms race, the finish line quickly approaching. The movement had become so vicious the stall door was being worked off its hinges. The claps of humid flesh echoed in the room with bruising force. Tak was as loud and British as a boiling tea kettle, and Zim sounded like Richard Horvitz falling down a long flight of stairs. It was a horrible, sweaty thing to behold. 

Tak gave one last push down as she seized up, muscles locking as she cried louder and huskier than ever. She grinned as she shivered with orgasmic pleasure. She was ready to gloat, only to see the race was a tie, the male Irken's face contorted into a truly ghastly O-face. She could feel the goopy mess he was leaving in her, her post-nut clarity unfortunately returning her repulsion instinct. She wanted to jump off of him and douse herself in cleanser, but the exertion of aggro fucking finally caught up. Her weight ragdolled into him, his pak legs giving in and the two of them clattering onto the floor, along with the stall door. 

Before words could be exchanged, something caught their attention. A Vortian, standing by the sink, watching in amusement. 

"How the FUCK did you get in here?" Tak spat, trying to pull her skirt down for some sense of modesty. 

"I've been in here the whole time?" He slurped on his fountain drink, "So, Didn't know Irkens could still fuck. Cool." 

"GET OUT"

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as a spin-off on someone's AU, which is why Zim is randomly in drag. Don't question it.
> 
> Also, here's some OBVIOUSLY NSFW art that inspired the story (drawn by yours truly): imgur.com/a/KMjQVL1


End file.
